


Thunder and Lightning

by Serpent_Tailed_Angel



Category: Knight & Rogue - Hilari Bell
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25956331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serpent_Tailed_Angel/pseuds/Serpent_Tailed_Angel
Summary: In which Michael's Gifts fail him and Fisk is amused.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Thunder and Lightning

**Author's Note:**

> It has been four years since the last Knight and Rogue fic on FFN and three years on AO3, but whatever. I just randomly noticed that I had a K&R fic listed on in my AO3 archive and re-read it on a whim, and then went back and started spot-reading a lot of scenes I remembered liking from the actual books, and am now starting a thorough re-read of the entire series. And while I still can't bring myself to commit to a full-length fic knowing how few people are likely to read it, I don't mind doing a couple fluffy oneshots that pop into my head along the way.
> 
> There's a point in book (I think) six where Michael makes an offhand comment about the feeling you get before you hear thunder and Fisk is like "never felt it, but you're the Gifted one, so carry on." And somehow it started a train of thought that ended with this story,
> 
> ...I really hope it was thunder Michael mentioned and not lightning.

" 'Twill be fine. The potion is an old one. In the warring periods, 'twas often used on nobles to make them more vulnerable to magica traps, but it does no harm other than to prevent a person from realizing when a certain plant or animal is dangerous. It takes several days to work itself out of the body, and I'll only have my Gifts back once 'tis gone, but 'tis hardly permanent or even damaging, and I can still _see_ what plants or animals we should be careful of, even if they no longer prickle at my senses."

Despite the proclamation, Michael had been pale ever since the sheriff retrieved him from Smith's basement. Something about being chained up and force-fed potions. Fisk might have joked about how the first such incident rendered the second pointless, just to get a rise, but Michael devoted so much energy to pretending be wasn't shaken, Fisk didn't think he'd notice.

"Your Gift for sensing danger isn't reliable anyway," Fisk said instead. "Which is a shame, because it could let us know if a bear planned to attack our camp."

"There shouldn't be bears in this region," Michael corrected. "Besides, tonight would be a terrible night to camp. You don't need Gifts to see a storm is coming. An inn would be far better."

"A great idea, noble sir. Pity you're banned from all of them."

"The sheriff said he would send word of who the real slaver was."

"Then let's hope word travels quick."

As it turned out, word that good Master Smith had two men and ten women chained in his basement, three noble, even if you didn't count the unredeemed one, spread like wildfire. The first two inns assured Michael he was being refused purely for his tattoos and not for any slavery allegations, but the third was inclined to tolerate him for an extra coin on account of having left a trail for the sheriff to uncover Smith's secret-and by getting himself captured by that vile man, no less!

Fisk grumbled about how they ought to get a discount in that case, but Michael was to pleased with a warm meal, a bath, and a proper bed to care. A hearth in the tavern warded off the late autumn chill even as rain pattered and then hammered on the roof. The innkeeper even let him take a clay pitcher filed with water up to their room free of charge.

Fisk was already seated on a bed large enough to be luxurious for one but cramped for two, boots pulled off, when Michael entered the room with the pitcher in hand. He made it two steps toward the bed before thunder rattled against the walls.

Michael yelped and threw the pitcher, which Fisk jumped to catch.

"Thunder?" Fisk asked. "Since when were you afraid of… Ah. Sorry. I hadn't realized you were still so shaken up from that night in Smith's basement. Did he do anything to yo… Was it loud?"

"I am not afraid of thunder!" Michael declared. red creeping from his cheeks to his ears. " 'Twas a surprise, the same as if someone unexpectedly jumped out of a bush, but there's nothing frightening about it! Besides, the basement was perfectly quiet. I've no reason to be troubled by-"

He flinched at another thunder clap, louder than the last.

"That lightning must be close by," Fisk observed. "And a surprise? Do you not see the flashes of light beforehand?"

"Of course I can see them, but there's no telling how much time will pass between lightning and thunder. Mayhap I _am_ still shaken, for 'tis normally easier to feel the thunder before it comes."

"Feel the thunder…" Fisk repeated slowly. "Michael, you Gifted _fool_! You can reliably sense _thunder_ but you danger Gift can't tell assassins from a match-making aunt?"

Whatever protest Michael opened his mouth to make, it was lost to the squeak of surprise he made when the boom of thunder came only three seconds after a flash of lightning.

"Poor thing," Fisk said. "Afraid of thunder. Who knew? Well, come here and hide under the sheets. I'll keep you safe."

Michael was not, as they both knew, afraid of thunder, merely thrown of by the temporary absence of Gifts he'd relied on without ever sparing any thought to. And they both knew they both knew that, and that Fisk was only bullying. None of this stopped Michael from eyeing the bed with distaste. He didn't dare open his mouth and risk any other noises that Fisk would never let him live down. Unable to defend himself vocally, Michael could only resist the roll Fisk assigned him by refusing to get into bed until he went at least one thunder clap without starting.

But Michael had spent most of the previous night in a basement, with no sheet and only a thin straw mat to lie on, and had given up on sleep early and then dedicated his time to scouring everywhere the shackle on his ankle let him reach for a means of escape. As seconds gave way to minutes with only the steady drum of rain on the roof, the temptation of sound sleep in a soft bed won Michael over. He shed his boots and climbed onto the opposite side of the bed.

He'd lain down and pulled the bedsheets up as high as his waist when the next boom of thunder and flash of lightning fell in near perfect harmony. Startled without even light to warn him of the noise, Michael found he'd reflexively tossed the sheet, and it fell gently over the entirety of his head.

He left it there, because the alternative was to let Fisk see how furiously he blushed, and to see how hard Fisk laughed rather than merely hear it and feel as it shook their bed.

"The knight errant who fearlessly submitted himself to slavery in order to try and free the other captives, afraid of a little thunder," Fisk said when he could get enough air in to speak. "No one would find your tattoos frightening if they saw this scene."

With nothing to say for himself, Michael shut his eyes and did his best to go to sleep without thinking of how many months… years… No, Fisk would bring this one up as he saw fit to tease Michael for the rest of their lives.

For his part, Fisk eventually managed to stop laughing eventually, but couldn't sleep. Although he'd never say so, if only for knowing that Michael would take some small satisfaction in the karma of it, there was no way he could rest in their shared bed while Michael kept flinching long after having slipped into an uneasy sleep.

"Be more careful in the future, Michael," Fisk muttered to someone who wouldn't hear. "Losing track of you the other day was far more frightening than a sudden loud noise."


End file.
